Lime-Green House of God

by lingonberryjelly

Lime-Green House of God

by KECG

Becka would wake up behind the wheel of a Datsun. She would glance to her right with sleepy eyes, and Timothy would smile back at her.

She would think for one breath, wishing she had more time. Timothy was so sweet; she would wish for his sake rather than her own, but he would already be her accomplice.

The sirens would wail and lights flash behind them.

Cops,” Tim would say, more a comment than a warning, and she would turn the key in her stolen Datsun, sliding over the asphalt.

They would chase them for three blocks, but lose them in the intersection of Seneca and Twelfth, collision with a garbage truck.

She would turn to Tim again, staring into his blue eyes. His face would be drawn tight as he looked through the windshield, and she would turn back, the windshield speckled red.

The wheels would thump over something soft, and she would brake, sliding to a stop and jumping out, just on time but with a blank appointment book.

Tim would follow as she walked back to the woman lying splayed on the street. That woman would cough as if coming up from a deep dive in red liquid, and lift a pistol, unsteady aim. Four shots. The post of a streetlamp, red brick, a bedroom window, and through Becka’s heart.

Tim would run past her, and Becka would wish he’d stopped. He could kneel down and cry over her, or hold her hand as the blood left it, but he wouldn’t.

He would run to the dying woman, knocking the pistol from her hand, and squeezing his thumbs against her windpipe.

Becka would stand and watch.

She woke up then, behind the wheel of that Datsun, and turned, finding Jack sitting where Tim would sit.

You look tired,” he said.

I thought it might be today.”

Because of the Datsun? I think it’s probably too yellow.”

It’s the same one,” Becka said. “But I haven’t met him yet.”

You’re running late,” Jack said.

No.” She glanced over at the passenger seat, and the Rubik’s cube that now sat in Jack’s place, stolen from a child’s bedroom two hours before.

In just over twelve minutes it would fracture a man’s skull. “I’m on schedule,” Becka said, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled out.

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